


Sixteenth Summer

by orphan_account



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Mentions of Death, Mentions of Eren/?, Mentions of Jean/Marco - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-17
Updated: 2014-06-17
Packaged: 2018-02-05 00:21:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1798690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was cruel irony that the Battle for Trost took place two weeks before Marco’s birthday. Jean couldn’t help but find the thought sickening. He had planned it all out for Marco: jean would bribe a bottle of wine from one of the older soldiers, order a fine dinner and take it back to their place, and celebrate sixteen summers of life.</p>
<p>But only Jean was left alone to celebrate it, as Marco would never be turning sixteen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sixteenth Summer

**Author's Note:**

> unbeta'd. Happy birthday, Marco!

It was cruel irony that the Battle for Trost took place two weeks before Marco’s birthday. Jean couldn’t help but find the thought sickening. He had planned it all out for Marco: jean would bribe a bottle of wine from one of the older soldiers, order a fine dinner and take it back to their place, and celebrate sixteen summers of life.

But only Jean was left alone to celebrate it, as Marco would never be turning sixteen. That was the irony, wasn’t it? 

Jean wasn’t where he had planned to be at all. Instead of a warm bed in the heart of Sina, he was wrapped up in a wool blanket in a castle as close to the wall as they could get. Instead of the posh lifestyle and security of the Military Police, he’d be lucky to reach his own sixteenth birthday. He was a Scout, after all. After that, that _mess_ , how could he be anything but? He had looked death in the face, over and over, had scarified lives to save other lives. He couldn’t just hide away after that, ignoring the reality and the truth he had been forced to face. What would Marco have thought of him then?

“Can’t think much of anything, can you?” Jean called out to the empty room, but he got no response. He still tried to celebrate as he planned, a mostly-empty bottle of wine clutched to his chest, though he had spent no coin to get it. Instead, he had filched it from the storeroom, fully intent on enjoying Marco’s birthday _for_ him.

“Levi would lose his shit if he found out you stole alcohol, you know,” a voice said quietly, and Jean turned blurry eyes to the familiar voice.

Eren. Just great.

“G’way, fucker,” he snarled, but Eren merely stepped into the room, pulling the door closed behind him and latching it shut. He revealed the hand hidden behind his back, a bottle of wine and a basket of food coming into view.

“At least, that’s what I’m supposed to tell you. He figured it out pretty quickly though, and sent me to supervise you.”

“Why d’you care?” Jean grumbled, and Eren shrugged.

“I cared about him, too. And Levi said you needed to mourn. Now come on, we have another bottle of wine and some cake to get through.”

Jean didn’t try to make him leave that time. Together they sat side by side, laughing, crying, and screaming. Eren held Jean as he shouted his curses at fate and irony, and Jean listened to Eren sob about he had looked up to Marco, had admired his calm and soothing personality.

They grasped each other as they sought comfort, Eren’s hands smoothing down his skin as their mouths clashed. The sobs swallowed by each other’s lips and tongue. He vaguely remembered Eren pulling his shirt off, holding it to pillow him as he pushed Jean to the ground, his mouth railing down his jaw and neck, licking and sucking and biting to the other boy’s content. Jean was a mess, the liquor and grief messing with his head on top of the pleasure. It was this mixture that didn’t let him realize Eren had slid his pants down, the material tossed carelessly to the side as a very warm hand grasped his half-hard length.

He shouted, half in surprise and half in pleasure. Jean’s head was swimming, his body arching and his legs spreading on their own accord, seeking a touch from a man beyond his reach. Eren was here though, only a mere stand-in for the person he truly wanted.

It went bough ways, though. That, jean had no doubt.

Eren’s mouth was on him, licking and sucking and teasing him to completion, leaving him to writhe on the floor.  The stone floor scraped at his skin, tearing it as he slid against it, trying to raise his hips to thrust deeper into the too-hot mouth wrapped around his cock. It had been too long since he’d touched himself, since another had touched him, and as he came in Eren’s mouth, it was not the boy’s name he cried out in ecstasy and longing. As he lay back panting, watching Eren’s hand working himself over above him, it wasn’t Jean’s name that fell from Eren’s lips as his seed splattered across Jean’s torso.

They lay together, panting, recovering, and trying to ignore the guilt creeping up in their chests, the same of both using and being used. Finishing the wine and cake in silence, they avoided looking at each other as Eren helped Jean to stand, putting his clothes back on. Jean was taken back to his room, helped along the cold corridors by Eren, who had an arm around his back, and one of Jean’s arms around his shoulders, almost lifting him from the ground completely. As Jean was tucked into bed, he couldn’t help but say one last farewell.

“Happy birthday, Marco,” he mumbled, and Eren’s voice was soft as he also repeated the words. Jean smiled, a sense of relief erasing the shame and guilt that had taken hold after their… tryst. Jean wasn’t the only one who knew. Jean wasn’t the only one who cared.

“Happy birthday, Marco.”


End file.
